ribbon of dreams
by thepensword
Summary: They meet across universes. Their lives are strung together with ribbon as red as poppies and woven of dreams. It is summer when Izuku looks into a reflection of eyes not his own.


**Based off of some lovely art by maidsonas on tumblr.**

 **I definitely listened to the soundtrack while writing this.**

* * *

Izuku opens bleary eyes and stares up at a ceiling that isn't his and thinks, _oh_.

This isn't the first time it's happened. Not by far. And yet every time it happens, it feels like stepping into a dream.

Shouto's phone is buzzing on the sheets beside him, and so Izuku picks it up with sleep-laden fingers and turns off the alarm.

 _I wonder if he has anything to say to me today?_

* * *

The world is a very strange place. Things happen that often go unexplained, and if one stops to dwell on them for too long they might find themselves going mad. But sometimes things happen that are momentous; things that can change a life.

It's been weeks since Izuku first woke up in an unfamiliar body, and he still doesn't know why. He's not sure he'll ever know.

He's not sure he cares.

But there's a connection, he thinks, between him and Shouto. Somehow, their souls are bound, despite never having met, despite the fact that they are worlds away. There's a universe between Tokyo and Itomori, and somehow they've formed a bridge across the vastitudes.

"Shouto-kun?" prods Yaoyoruzu-senpai, smiling at him from across the restaurant. "Are you free after your shift tonight?"

Izuku thinks of Shouto's frantic note in his phone ( _stop setting me up with dates!_ ). He thinks of bridges between worlds. He thinks of the night sky over Tokyo.

 _Sorry, Shouto,_ he thinks, and nods his head. "Yes, Senpai!"

* * *

Izuku blinks at himself in the mirror. And it _is_ himself, green curls and freckles and all. He pokes at his cheek and his reflection responds in turn; good, then he's probably not dreaming.

It's getting increasingly hard to tell, these days.

* * *

It's unbearable.

There's a weight in his chest, or a growing heat. It's like a lump of coal has lodged in his throat, filling his mouth with the taste of ash and metal and impatience.

 _All this time,_ he thinks. _All this time and I've never seen him with my own eyes._

The next day, Izuku boards a bus bound for Tokyo.

* * *

"My name is Izuku!" he shouts from across the crowded train. The people between them are closing in like a wave, and Shouto is getting further and further away. His eyes, wide and blinking and _beautiful_ , hold no trace of recognition.

But Izuku can't have dreamt this. He knows he can't have dreamt this.

"Shouto-kun!"

The ribbon pulls free from forest green curls and floats through the air between them. Shouto's hand closes on the other end and there it is, that connection.

A ribbon stretched across the train car. A bridge between universes.

A link between lives.

Izuku lets go of his end of the ribbon.

* * *

The comet is beautiful.

The wind blows in Izuku's newly shorn hair and the cosmos is reflected in his eyes. Colors spread across the sky like oil paint smeared across a canvas, pinpointed by stars like fireflies ascended to heaven, and centerpiece to it all, the comet is a shocking point of beauty like nothing Izuku has ever seen before.

This is the universe before him. This is the bridge between worlds.

Izuku reaches trailing fingers upwards as if to touch the sky.

The comet splits and the world turns blinding.

* * *

" _The number you are trying to reach is unavailable or has been turned off—"_

Shouto turns to look up at the stars.

 _I want to meet you_ , he thinks.

They don't switch places after that.

* * *

Shouto watches, stunned, as weeks and weeks of notes disappear as if they had never been there at all. He grips the phone with shaking fingers and stares out at the crater that had once been a city and thinks, _no, it can't have been a dream._

It can't have been a dream, but when he opens his mouth to call out, the name dies on his tongue.

And then he forgets.

* * *

Sometimes he wakes up crying. Sometimes the red bracelet is too tight on his wrist. Sometimes the scratch of pencil on paper turns into the blazing trail of a comet.

* * *

 _"_ _I have to go,_ " writes Shouto, and climbs across the mountains.

* * *

The forest curls and new-leaf eyes are achingly familiar and it takes Shouto a long time to stop crying. _Izuku_ , he thinks. _Your name is Izuku. I won't forget this time._

He eats breakfast quickly. He reaches for the ribbon that's no longer there, feels the phantom impression of a bracelet around his wrist.

 _You came to see me_ , he thinks, and his gut twists hot and leaden.

 _I won't fail you this time._

* * *

 _Kataware-doki._

Twilight.

The intersection of night and day. The watercolor mix of light and darkness.

The bridge between worlds.

"Izuku," says Shouto.

"Shouto-kun?" breathes Izuku, and his eyes fill with tears.

* * *

 _"_ _I love you,"_ says Shouto's handwriting on Izuku's hand. He knows this handwriting, knows it like he knows his own; _who are you_ and _here are the rules_ and _why is this happening_ stretching between them like a conversation strung between dreams.

 _I love you,_ it says, and Izuku had been too slow to say it back.

And now it's too late.

The sky is violet in between the branches. Time is running out and Izuku has a mission.

He wipes his tears and holds his hand close to his chest. _It's alright,_ he thinks, as he begins to run. _It's alright. I won't forget you_.

 _Shouto-kun._

 _Shouto-kun._

 _Sho—_

* * *

Sometimes he wakes up crying.

* * *

A flash of green. A fragment of a name. A poppy-red ribbon woven from memories and string.

* * *

Their eyes meet through thick panes of glass, and it is so familiar that it hurts, somewhere deep down in Izuku's chest.

Mismatched eyes flash bright with recognition and Izuku thinks, _oh_.

* * *

"Hey! Haven't we met?"

The red ribbon blows in the wind, intermingling with thick green curls. The boy turns and the tears on his face are memories or stars.

"I thought so too!"

Shouto smiles. He stands on a bridge, on the tail of a comet, on a merging of worlds. The lead in his chest that has been there for as long as he can remember is settling, and old dreams are waking to break through the nightmares.

"What is your name?"


End file.
